


... and blooming like a forget-me-not

by Marishel



Series: Forget-me-not [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flowerfell, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Female Frisk, Gen, M/M, Underfell Flowey, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marishel/pseuds/Marishel
Summary: No one in the Underground knows where did these flowers come from. No one knows why they've grown on him too.When Sans becomes infected with golden flowers, the human lose their determination and die without any chance to reset. Sans is lonely again.So there's no options except returning back home to his brother.





	1. Live

**Author's Note:**

> This Universe is something like a crossover between Underfell and Flowerfell, but in a free interpretation. I'm sure I've seen such fics before so it's not new one or something... It's just me trying to tell a story from another character's point. That's all.  
> Oh, and in my mind Papyrus is not as bad as may seem, so don't be surprised there'd be no violence coming from him.

_«kill me»._

Papyrus is not good at the hand-language, but he understands this perfectly. Several simple signs drawn in the air seem like a burnings letters to him. Sans waits, yet his brother doesn’t say a word, so he lifts his hands again and repeats:

_«kill»._

Papyrus stays silent.

He thought about it too much before. Sometimes when got irritated, sometimes seriously; he thought it would be a great idea to turn his useless brother to dust and avoid lots of problems. Sans was causing particular troubles since well that damned human arrived: Papyrus has done a huge work while scaring all the monsters away from their house. Sans was weak and everybody knew that, and when someone as weak lives in a place where the main rule is «kill or be killed», you can’t hope for the best, really. Sans should’ve been killed among the first.

Well, Papyrus tried hard to make sure it’d never happen. He even got him this sentry job in the forest, so brother didn’t hang around the town before everyone’s eyes. Even if he hated working and was too lazy to get it seriously, it didn’t matter. He was coming home not dusted, so Papyrus had nothing to blame himself for.

Sans tilts his head. His hands are moving by themselves; his sight is empty and laid-back.

_«kill me, Boss. i'm begging ya»._

He could’ve asked someone else instead. He could’ve gone outside and simply got into troubles, Papyrus thinks. But Sans is here, in front of him, keeps asking the same all over again.

It’s kind of cruel. Not after Papyrus was protecting this stupid loser all these years, pulling their family all alone. Not after the human arrived, not after he didn’t catch them, forever disgracing himself in front of Undyne, the King and the others. Gods, Sans doesn’t have a right to ask — not after he betrayed his brother for the human’s sake.

He doesn’t answer and Sans starts gesturing, abruptly and roughly, too fast. Papyrus can’t understand. He figures out some of the words, but there’s no chance to get the whole speech clearly. He looks around for the flower Sans always takes with him in an old pot, but it’s nowhere around in the such necessary moment. The flower gets this unclear hand speaking, which Sans has learned in few last weeks, better. Papyrus gets almost nothing. There’s no way he could answer in the same manner.

— I don’t understand, — he says finally, wishing this fever waving to stop. — Sans, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not gonna kill you.

 _«why not?»_  — he figures out. Sans gestures slowly, so he would be heard. —  _«you hate me, don’t you?»_

Papyrus has to  _hear_ these words. He’s done with those soulless and senseless gestures. He wants to hear his brother’s voice cracking in despair, ringing hysterically, losing control and rising to a shriek. He even may do him a favor for that.

But Sans doesn’t speak. Papyrus knows he would never hear anything from him, but still hardly realizes it.

He looks at him, at his moving hands, at his trembling gold star-shaped pendant. The fur of his new jacket — as black as the previous one, — tickles brother’s neck, becomes fluffy near the cheekbones and touches the flowers covering all the left side of his face. The flowers are gold, little and they smell like something sweet and smothery. Papyrus knows that the golden scrub rounds his brother’s skull, goes down to the chest and ridges out from the inside. He knows it hurts because he sees how Sans’s face wrinkles when he tries to breath in deeply. He knows it’s hard to bear.

It’s not like he’s sorry. Brother has deserved it himself.

The flowers find their way through the gaps between his teeth. Papyrus looks at them in fascination and thinks Sans is goddamned lucky. The human died and flower’s growth stopped, saving his brother from the inevitable death. He should’ve suffocated — Papyrus understands once more, glancing at the golden buds. They should’ve grown in his trachea, blocking the air, and he should’ve suffocated and dusted over the little weird human’s grave.

He’s lucky. Papyrus truly believes that brother was lucky enough to survive, but Sans doesn’t think so. Sans is staring at him imploringly and his hands are showing the same phrase.

_«kill me»._

— Stop asking me for that, Sans.

It would cost nothing to him. Amazing, how easy it is to kill his brother: he’s weak and unwilling and he waits for the death passively. Just one move — and he’s gone. No one would remember him. Only the empty room will remain, and clothes grey of dust, and this abandoned lab at the back yard Sans naively thought Papyrus didn’t know about. The star-shaped pendant will remain. That chatty flower maybe too, Papyrus is not sure.

Nothing else will.

— You doesn’t deserve death, brother. You’re too mean. You have lost the human.

He remembers the little one was called Frisk, but doesn’t say her name on purpose. Sans looks away, clenches his fists; Papyrus finally notices some tiny buds in the corner of his left eye socket. They are so small he hardly sees.

The human went blind because of these flowers, he recalls. Flowey, this chatty nature’s mistake which Sans brought to their house, told him that Frisk went blind and Sans had to lead her by hand. Then her legs became paralyzed and he carried her long enough, until they reach the castle. She died at the entrance, freeing the precious human soul. They could’ve been free now — so Papyrus thinks, — but Sans acted too emotionally back then. He dispelled her soul, broke it into pieces with magic and took away their chance to return to the Surface. When Papyrus asked why he did it, brother said nothing; he just gestured: _«not with her soul»._

God knows what this meant to be.

— I won’t do you a favor, — he says looking directly at brother’s face. — You’ve done your choice to help the human. Now I’m doing mine. Sans, I was merciful enough: I let you and your flower return here when you’ve lost the human. I let you stay. I didn’t even report to Undyne, although it’s my duty. That’s enough, I suppose.

_«kill»._

— You will live, — Papyrus gives full value to each word, feeling as they dig into brother’s bones. — You’ll live with it. The death would never atone any of your sins, Sans. It would not erase the blame. You’ll live and remember how you couldn’t save her.

He truthfully doesn’t want to say it, but words are finding their way out somehow. Sans is tensed; his mouth is beveled painfully as he’s about to cry, but Papyrus can’t see any tears in his eyes. He’s aware of how cruel things he says are, but so is the life and so is the truth: no one will bring Frisk back to his brother. No one will bring his voice back. And he has to deal with it, because Papyrus is not going to lose anything — and anybody.

Somewhere deep in his soul, which, as he thought, can’t be wounded by anything, a little scar remains. It appeared at the day the human arrived — at the day when Sans opposed him willingly and then ran away. At the day when Sans _betrayed_ him. Something inside is buzzing and pulling with the thought of it, so he strives not to remember but it’s hard as hell, especially when brother follows him every single day, asking Papyrus to turn him to dust.

Brother wants to die and be with her, with damned little girl he barely knew. Papyrus can hardly restrain fury when thinking ‘bout it; hardly restrain himself from shouting his feelings out loud. True feelings. Deceived. Lonely. Miserable. There’s plenty of words actually, but he chooses these ones. He feels himself almost as mean as his broken brother because of this shameful desire to be needed by the only one monster at the whole Underground. Even if they have never been close enough.

But Sans longs for the human and breathes hoarsely because of the flowers in his throat. Papyrus almost see how they distant from each other more and more. He fears secretly that someday a new human will come, and brother will follow him, and flowers will begin to grow again. He reaches his hand unconsciously, touching soft buds on Sans’s face; red lights flashes in brother’s eye sockets, glowing in surprise, but he doesn’t push off.

Good.

Petals are soft and thin. He touches them carefully, just with finger-tips at first, then with the whole palm, feeling the white hard bone under the fragile stems. Brother hesitates, but then tilts his head like trying to put it on the hand. Papyrus looks how lights-сoals slowly dies out in his eyes.

He’s scared to death that someday somewhere on his body — on the skull, or hand, or shoulder — a new flower will appear. A new innocent flower which would be a beginning of the new disaster chain. Then others will grow and soon his mute brother won’t breath freely and suffocate. He will die just in front of Papyrus. He has seen a lot in his life, he has killed thousands, and, God knows, he wished he could kill his brother for his awful behavior about one million times, but...

But he’s not ready to see  _it_. Not yet.

— You’re the one who hates, — he says before understands why he does. Sans opens his eyes a little, looking questioningly. — You saw how the human died. You were so attached to her but couldn’t save, and flowers had grown on her whole body. It hurt a lot I guess.

Sans frowns and moves his hands but Papyrus intercepts them, clenching with his own. He is not going to puzzle out any gestures and argue — he just wants to tell everything once and for all.

— And then he died because of them, — he continues hastily, hoping Sans would listen until the end. — You gave her the jacket, right? You returned home without it, but... listen, I was just _happy_ you came. In any case.

He stops for a second, not knowing what should be next. The scar inside hurts and shouts, irritated by the conversation. Somewhere around the music box continues to play. The human has fixed it, and Papyrus saw many times how Sans came to it and sit there endlessly, listening to the repeating beautiful melody. He stood nearby, knowing brother would notice nothing: Sans just stared at the statue covered with the umbrella, and tears were streaming down his face. He didn’t allow himself to cry at home, but there, next to that statue, he always seemed to be so... defenseless.

Papyrus can’t say when did such sentimentality grow in him. Maybe it has always been inside, hidden somewhere deep. Maybe dispelled human soul has found a shelter in him; sometimes Papyrus hears a tiny child’s voice which he hasn’t ever heard really: _«Always be kind»._

It reminds him of something old and forgotten, of something he knew back then in a childhood, before he fully accepted Underground’s laws. It seems to him that he and Sans were closer than now once.

— You hate, — Papyrus repeats, holding his hands. — You hate me, brother. You know how much it hurts; you saw her dying. Then why do you want me to go through this?

Sans can’t answer. He struggles weakly, trying to break free, but only smiles sadly when doesn’t succeed.

— I won’t kill you, — he has already said it thousand times. — Live with your pain, you hear me? Pay for what you couldn’t do. And I... I will too. It’s right for both of us.

That’s fair. That’s right. Golden flowers wave when Sans opens his mouth like going to say something, but there’s just air coming out of it instead of sounds. He nods at his hands and Papyrus finally lets him go. Sans smiles weakly.

 _«never have hated you»_ , — gestures are simplified so he’d understand. —  _«sorry, Paps»._

He’s not able to be kind, honestly. But Sans leans his head on Papyrus’s palm trustfully, and flowers on his cheeks are turning wet because of tears.

Papyrus feels their sweet bitterness spilling in the air.


	2. Remember

He wakes up suffocating. The room’s darkness weighs him down when Sans sits short, then bends over and gasps for air. Several flowers might have curved again, shutting the air access off — it has already been happening before. At the very first time he was panicking, threatened to suffocate, until Flowey finally forced him to calm down and try to find the right position. There were few similar nights after that, but Sans already knew how to fight it. It’s always scary to suffocate, but he got used to it somehow.

The breathing stables. Sans hears the air as it goes through his partly overgrown throat with a disgusting hiss. This sound makes a silhouette by his bed move — Flowey raises its head, woken up by the noise. Sans feels its observant look on himself.

— Again?

He nods. Gesturing in the darkness seems to be a bad idea.

— You okay? — Flowey listens for his breath, making sure it’s alright, and then continues. — Go to sleep, you need some rest. Deal?

He leans back obediently, carefully, so flowers would not move an inch, and makes several deep breaths. Great, it’s okay now. Flower lowers its head, convinced that Sans has followed its advice, and falls asleep again.

Sans really wants to do the same, but just stares at the ceiling ‘til the morning instead.

***

Flowers cause a lot of troubles. It’s hard to eat with them, impossible to talk — he has to use a hand-language which only Flowey understands. They also pull badly when Sans dresses himself carelessly or gets caught on something. What’s the most important — they make him suffocate from time to time, and this part is the worst.

— They might wither someday, — Flowey says once, when they sit in the kitchen. Papyrus has closeted himself upstairs earlier: there is some grudge between him and the flower again. Sans has no idea how to make them get on well with each other if it is ever possible. — It’s been a while since Frisk... I mean, they had stopped growing. Maybe they’d just die like any other plant and then you’d heal.

Sans shrugs idly. No one in the Underground knows why these flowers had grown on human. No one knows why he had been infected too. He could’ve asked Alphys to help but doesn’t want her to rummage in his body with any devices and cause more pain than he already has. It’s not like life with the flowers is really insufferable, taking into account he doesn’t have any will to live since Frisk died almost next to the barrier.

Flowers remind of her. Golden petals tickle his cheeks, probably — he doesn’t almost feel anything right where they grow. Flowers cherish the memories, and Sans doubts he would use the possibility to heal if he had one.

— Hey, don’t be blue, — Flowey asks him softly when notices that Sans is staring at the tiny bud on his wrist in aloofness. — She wouldn’t have wanted to see you upset.

_«I know»._

Smiling hurts because of the flowers growing on his face, but he tries anyways. Flowey smiles back compassionately and caresses his hand right where is no plants.

— Don’t blame yourself, — it’s not the first time he’s saying that, and obviously not the last. — We couldn’t have helped her with all we’ve got. There were too much flowers for her to bear. It’s not your fault.

Sans nods and looks away. Flowey has been repeating this like a mantra since they returned to Snowdin. Flowey ingeminates it was not his fault but a coincidence. Sans agrees, although there’s only one thought ringing inside his skull:

_«It was me who killed her»._

And Flowey, goddamn it, is perfectly aware.

— You could do nothing, Sans, — Flowey strives to look him in the eyes, more exactly, in the one without any flower. — Neither you nor I could change things. But we tried, you cannot deny it, we tried.

He chuckles and closes his eyes. He thinks he should’ve done anything. He should’ve fought better so Frisk wouldn’t have died so often. He should’ve been stronger and more determined. If they hadn’t died so many times there wouldn’t have been so many flowers. She wouldn’t have gone blind. She wouldn’t have got paralyzed. She wouldn’t have...

He realizes he is crying only when hears tears dripping on the table. Drops hold on the petals for a second, then fall down. Sans is looking at them, exhausted. Flowey removes its eyes uneasily, giving the skeleton some time to calm down.

The door behind slams and heavy footsteps are closing in. Papyrus is saying something while he draws near so annoyed Flowey asks him to shut up if only for this time. Sans stands up, setting the chair back with a wallop.

Papyrus cuts himself short when notices the wet buds which are strangely glistening in the light. All the three of them are speechless, and the disturbing silence is filling the room.

— You okay? — his brother asks eventually. It comes out very awkward, and even Sans didn’t get used to such sort of questions from Papyrus yet, but he tries to play it cool anyways.

_«Yeah»._

He leaves before anyone manages to stop him.

***

The music box continues to play. He memorized the melody back then, so he just sings along knowing no one would hear — monsters rarely wander in this area. Endless drops are falling from the ceiling right onto the umbrella, but it doesn’t interfere the music.

Sans presses his head to the knees. He comes here every day, sometimes with Flowey, sometimes all alone. He listens to the melody and thinks about Frisk, and tears shed even if he doesn’t feel so lousy.

Humans never turn to the dust. Humans get covered with the flowers and die. Sans left her body on the golden flowers bed, where she became one with them forever. He has never returned there. 

He left his jacket and, obviously, part of his own soul with it. He doesn’t know what causes more pain: goddamned flowers in his throat or bitter memories. There seems to be no sense in acting like usual every single day but he still comes to that statue and spends here countless hours just listening to the music box and not letting the hole in his chest stop bleeding.

Sometimes quiet footsteps seem to be heard behind, but when he turns around the road is always empty.

_«Come back, sweetheart»._

He even cannot say it aloud. His hands are moving on their own, but she wouldn’t see if she were here because of the flowers covering her face.

_«Take me with you, sweetheart»._

He is crying without even realizing it. Through the tears the statue seems to be fuzzy and unreal. Sans presses into the wall and closes his eyes; the sharp edges of the star-shaped pendant dig into his palm.

It’s all his fault. He knows that and Flowey knows, even Papyrus maybe. He let her die there, on the outskirts of the castle, he let the flowers take over. Flowey repeats it’s not his fault but Sans cannot deny the truth.

_«Sorry, sweetheart»._

The painful moan comes through the flowers like a thud roar. Sans recalls her confused face and subdued sobs from the first time she realized he got flowers on him too. He remembers her pain as if it was his own. 

Oh God, she was blaming herself, she, little and innocent one.

It all has gone wrong since then. The more flowers were growing on him the more she was giving up. It was over when he lost his voice — now he understands, it was over at that moment. Frisk forgot what does determination mean and died, not able to reset again.

_«It’s all my fault»._

He hates himself and his weakness. He still can feel the weight of her fragile body in his arms, the softness of the golden buds and its cold. Sans closes his eyes and sees her glowing red soul — it was blazing in his hands when Frisk’s breath faded away. 

He still remembers how burning it was.

— We must do something, — Flowey said back then, looking at the soul in confusion. — We must... I don’t know, free the monsters? She would’ve wanted it, Sans. 

He couldn’t talk with his hands occupied, so just shook his head. He wasn’t going to give Frisk’s soul to Asgore or anyone else, wasn’t ready to let go. The Underground, he thought, didn’t deserve freedom. And so did he.

— Then what?

The soul appeared to be very fragile. He crushed it by hands and it easily fell apart into the million red glowing pieces, which flew up to the ceiling and melted like stars. Flowey went off with a bang, staring at it; Sans could barely see their fuzzy outlines through the tears.

_«We’ll be together forever, sweetheart»._

He knew it. He knew Frisk will always be by his side, to never be seen; he felt her soul somewhere inside. Its heat was warming.

They returned to Snowdin only because there was nowhere to go. Strangely, Papyrus, who opened the door didn’t start cursing him and blaming for every sin. He just asked where the human was, but Sans couldn’t answer so Flowey had to do it instead.

— You’ve lost the human, brother, — Papyrus said heavily back then, looking at the skeleton from above. — But I’ll let you stay.

He didn’t wonder about the flowers.

Sans said nothing about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, my English sucks


End file.
